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The row of dolls watched her impassively from the bookshelf, their tea party propriety almost certainly offended.

Holly Black

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Holly Black
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: November 10
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
New Jersey
United States
Certainly
Almost
Bookshelf
Party
Bookshelves
Propriety
Dolls
Offended
Tea
Watched

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Death has his favorites, like anyone. Those who are beloved of Death will not die.
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Instead, it just reminded her that sometimes there were no good choices.
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She'd always been a little contemptuous of beauty, as though it was something you had to trade away some other vital thing for.
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Love changes us, but we change how we love too.
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It’s hard to look at Barron now, but I do. He’s smirking. His black hair and black suit make him into a shadow, as if I conjured some dark mirror of myself.
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Philip Sharpe was a soldier in God's army, says the minister. Now he marches with the angels.
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Tana. In all my long life, though there were many times I prayed for it, no one has ever saved me. No one but you.
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After that, she wasn't sure what the game was or if she'd imagined it. All she knew was that she had lost.
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I want you and I hate wanting things and I especially hate admitting I want them.
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You really dug your own grave,” he mutters. “And I’m going to bury you in it.” “Say that louder,” I tell him, under my breath. “I dare you.
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in her dreams, blood tasted like fizzy strawberry soda. If you drank it too fast, you got brain freeze. When she was older, after she'd licked a cut on her finger, the taste of that became the taste in her dreams: copper and tears.
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A girl like that, Grandad said, perfumes herself with ozone and metal filings.
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I wonder about death, I who may never know it. It looks much like ecstacy, the way they open their mouths as they drown, the way their fingers dig into your skin. Their eyes are wide and startled and they trash in your hands as though with an excess of passion.
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Clever girl. You play with fire because you want to be burnt.
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I'm not good at having friends. I mean, I can make myself useful to people. I can fit in. I get invited to parties and I can sit at any table I want in the cafeteria. But actually trusting someone when they have nothing to gain from me just doesn't make sense. All friendships are negotiations of power.
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I hate that everyone calls it growing up, but it seems like DYING.
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Memory is slippery. It bends to our understanding of the world, twists to accommodate our prejudices. It is unreliable. Witnesses seldom remember the same things. They identify the wrong people. They give us the details of events that never happened. Memory is slippery, but my memories suddenly feel slipperier.
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I'm afraid my voice is going to break. I am afraid she is going to hear how much this hurts.
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I'm sorry I kissed you- it was selfish and it upset you- but you can't ask me to pretend I didnt want to.
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If we have to be cat burglars, I'm going to see what' to steal in the fridge. We're trying to find evidence she's the poisoner. Just a thought before you start putting random things in your mouth. Ruth shrugged and walked past Val.
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